


The Glorious Revolution of Aziraphale Fell

by ranguvar82



Series: Bar Owner and Bookseller: A Love Story [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:08:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23498782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ranguvar82/pseuds/ranguvar82
Summary: Aziraphale receives a letter from someone in his past, rejoices in the present, and reflects on the future.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Bar Owner and Bookseller: A Love Story [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1690504
Comments: 4
Kudos: 55





	1. In Which Aziraphale Faces The Past

The Glorious Revolution of Aziraphale Fell

Chapter One: In Which Aziraphale Faces The Past

Crowley knows Aziraphale’s moods. He knows when his angel is sad, angry, joyful, upset, and everything in between. So when the bookseller trudges into Eden’s with a look on his face like he’s being sent to the gallows, Crowley is around the bar and pulling him into a hug before Aziraphale can say one word. “Angel, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” A slow, heavy sigh is the only answer, and Crowley leads him over to their private booth. “You wait there, baby, and I’ll go get us a couple of drinks.” He goes to the bar and pours Aziraphale a scotch and himself a rum, then heads back and places the drinks on the table before sidling in next to him.

Aziraphale drains his glass in one gulp, and Crowley gapes at him. Whatever this is, it’s serious. The bookseller sighs again, then pulls a folded up piece of paper out of his jacket pocket and passes it over to Crowley.

The bar owner reads it, his rage increasing as he goes.

‘ _My dear Aziraphale:_

_I was given your current area of residence by your mother when I stopped by Fell Manor to inquire about your well being. I must say, I am rather shocked to think of you living in such a vulgar place as Tadfield, let alone the Americas. I would have thought perhaps that you would have chosen France, as we had so many wonderful times there. But you were always a bit of a rebel, which is why I admired you so._

_I hear too that you have opened a shop! You always were reluctant to flaunt your wealth around, which I could never truly understand. What else is money for, if not to prove how much better one is than the common folk?_

_But enough niceties. I am writing this letter to inform you that I am engaged to be wed to your cousin Uriel, and that she humbly requests your presence at our nuptials. I realize that we did not part on the best of terms, and that you and Uriel are not the closest of family companions, but it would make her happy to see you._

_If you will agree to come, the wedding will take place on the seventeenth of next month at Fell Manor. I await your answer, which I am sure will be in the affirmative._

_Yours,_

_Stephen Richards’_

“Why that pompous, overblown, egotistical fucking asshole!” Crowley crumples the paper and tosses it aside. “I can’t believe that ass! After the way he treated you!”

Aziraphale goes to the bar and comes back with the scotch, pouring himself another portion and swallowing half of it before answering. “Oh, believe me, I already had my little meltdown at my apartment when the letter arrived. Stephen was always full of himself, always boasting and bragging about how well off he was. It became quite tiresome after a while, to be honest.”

“So why were you with him? He seems like a right wanker.”

Aziraphale takes a sip of scotch. “Because he was, quite literally, my first experience with...loving other men. I spent many years believing that because I was unable to find women...pleasing, that there was something horribly wrong with me. Stephen introduced me to, well, the life I’m in now, and a part of me will always be grateful for that. But at the same time...” he sighs, leaning into Crowley’s touch. “I was always his dirty little secret. He liked having a pretty young thing on his arm that he could show off to all his friends and order about. I went along with it because I...I really believed that he loved me, and that he had my best interests at heart. You see, I was only seventeen when I met him.”

“How old was he?”

Aziraphale frowns, thinking. “He’d just turned thirty. I was with him for three years, and I...was foolish enough to believe that he truly cared for me. But, well, I’ve told you about the letters.” He takes a deep breath before speaking. “Thing is, he wasn’t the man that he pretended to be in the letters, which were always full of praise and loving sentiment. No, he was...very controlling. I had to dress and behave in a certain manner or he would become furious with me, while at the same time telling me over and over that nobody would ever love me the way he did. It got to the point where I was so under his thumb that when he wrote to me I wrote back using the words that I knew would make him happiest.”

“Oh, Angel...” Crowley kisses the side of his head. “What finally happened with…?”

Aziraphale chuckles mirthlessly. “My being sent into self-imposed exile? I made the mistake of refusing to do something Stephen told me, and he blew up. Told me that unless I did it, he would make sure I was ruined beyond repair.”

“What did he…?”

Aziraphale gulps. “I...was ordered to...service some friends of his. We..we were at a party, and apparently I was the...guest of honor.” He snorts, and Crowley pulls him into a tight embrace. “The good news is that I was able to escape before anything happened. The bad news is, well, you know...”

Crowley’s blood is boiling. “I stand by what I first said. Guy is an asshole. But still, I have to be thankful for him in a way.”

“What?! Why?!”

Crowley places his hand on Aziraphale’s cheek, gazing into his cerulean eyes. “Because if he had not turned over the letters, you would have never come to the States, never gotten mixed up with the Angels, and never fallen into my arms and taken up permanent residence in my heart. I’ve never believed in fate, or soulmates, or any of the stuff Ana practices, but you and me, Aziraphale? We were always meant to be.” He leans forward and pulls his lover into a soft, sweet kiss. “I know you must be sick of me saying it by now, but I love you.”

Aziraphale shakes his head. “My love, you could say it every second of every day for the rest of Eternity and I would never get sick of it.”

“Good, because I don’t plan on ever stopping. Now, what are you going to do about this wedding? If you want to go, you know I’ll be by your side every step of the way.”

Aziraphale frowns, then grins wickedly. “My love, you have just given me the most wonderful idea.”

‘ _Dear Stephen:_

_I was quite surprised to receive your letter, as I was under the impression that you never wanted to lay eyes on me ever again after, and I quote, ‘the embarrassing incident at Lord Galloway’s party,’ wherein I refused to abase myself(though I recall you calling it a ‘silly bit of fun’)._

_Your letter has brought back many memories, such as the time you poured champagne on my head for speaking out of turn, the time you boxed my ears for wearing clothes that you did not approve of, and the many, many times you humiliated me and made me feel less of a person. For the longest time, I was deluded into believing that what I felt for you was love. How young and foolish I was, don’t you agree?_

_You will, no doubt, be happy to hear that I have found someone new, someone who loves me more than you ever did or could, someone who does not shame me for my interests(what was it you called my love of books? Oh yes, ‘frivolous nonsense not fit for people of our stature’) but instead encourages and even celebrates them, and who treats me as an individual and not just a pretty little doll to play with._

_It is therefore that I write to inform you that I would sooner swallow nails than attend your wedding. I do hope that this letter finds you well, and may I extend a formal request for you to go to Hell._

_I do of course wish you all happiness with my cousin, as she is a very shrewd businesswoman who will no doubt be of great asset to your quest to acquire more wealth and privilege._

_Sincerely,_

_Aziraphale Fell.’_


	2. In Which The Present Appears Most Precious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen shows up at the shop, Aziraphale rejoices in his bastadry, and Crowley has a proposal.

Chapter Two: In Which The Present Appears Most Precious

Aziraphale hums a tune as he sashays around the shop, placing books on shelves. He’d woken up that morning in the arms of his lovely ex-Demon, which always put him in the most amicable of moods, then on top of that Crowley had made them both breakfast, showing off the cooking skill that Aziraphale was sure only a handful of people knew about. He remembers asking once why Crowley didn’t do the cooking for Eden’s Serpent.

“ _I got enough on my plate keeping the place from falling down around my head when it’s packed to the rafters. Besides, it would just give Ana another excuse to laze about.”_ Aziraphale had rolled his eyes and smacked Crowley’s chest, knowing that not so deep down the bar owner was rather fond of the witch.

If that wasn’t enough to make him feel like he’s walking on air, he looks over at the calendar on the wall. It’s the twelfth of June, which means that it’s been eight whole months since he and Crowley officially declared their love for each other. Eight whole months with the most perfect man(and sometimes woman) in existence. Eight months of knowing that he is with someone who loves him completely for who he is and never thinks once about asking him to change. Eight months with the person who has given him back his shop.

It’s not in the same location-the memories, even now, are too raw and sharp and send Crowley into a very dark place(more than once Aziraphale has woken up to the bar owner whimpering and begging in his sleep “please wake up, angel, don’t leave me”) but it’s still a lovely location, right in the middle of a busy shopping area and(by pure coincidence) only steps away from Eden’s Serpent and the warehouse that was the temporary home of AZ Fell’s. Word has of course spread quickly, and Aziraphale finds himself once more inundated with customers.

He’s wondering idly how the wedding of his cousin to his former...friend went last month when the bell over the door rings, announcing that someone has come in. Aziraphale places a volume of Robert Frost’s poetry on a table before plastering on a smile and heading out towards the front. “Welcome to AZ Fell’s. How may I help...you!” Aziraphale is very rarely at a loss for words. But now, standing in his shop and seeing a man that he has not laid eyes on in over twenty years, he finds himself capable of saying only one thing. “NGK!”

The man is tall, with graying hair peppered with black, ice blue eyes, and a bearing that can only be described as ‘aristocratic’. He’s wearing a lavender suit with ruffled lace at the wrists, a light purple cravat and carrying a black cane tipped with gold. Perched on his head is a smart top hat the same color as his suit. “Aziraphale, darling.” His voice is as aristocratic as his bearing, and he smiles, showing off perfectly white teeth. “I do hope you are well.”

Aziraphale blinks, still agape. The man removes his (lilac) gloves and looks around, a sneer on his face. “So this is your establishment. I can’t say I’m impressed. It’s rather small, but then again you never were one for big ideas.”

The slight against his shop brings Aziraphale’s voice back. “I am quite proud of it. Stephen, what in the seven blue devils are you doing here?!”

Stephen returns his gaze to the other man. “Your cousin said that I needed to come speak to you in person.”

“So you crossed an entire bloody ocean?!”

Stephen huffs. “It was not my idea, but Uriel can be most persistent.”

Aziraphale snorts. “Believe me, I know. So what is so important that it could not merit a simple letter?”

Stephen walks over to a nearby chair and sits, somehow still staring down his nose at Aziraphale. “A letter is the reason for my arrival. Specifically, the rather insulting letter you sent refusing to come to the wedding.” He crosses his ankles, glaring at the bookseller. “I could very well have you sued for libel, you know. But the fact is, neither Uriel or I want the scandal.”

Aziraphale grins. “Tell me, what got your hackles up more? The fact that you had to face that you were an abusive monster who manipulated me into believing the way you treated me was love, or the fact that I have someone that loves me and am not pining hopelessly away for you? What irks you more?”

Stephen snorts. “Yes, this so called ‘love of your life’. Aziraphale, you and I both know that this man is merely a product of imagination. I told you over and over that unless you changed your backwards and antique way of life that nobody would want you. And that is why Uriel has sent me, to ask that you come home. The air will do you good.”

Aziraphale blinks, then bursts out laughing. “Oh, you always were an ass, but this is the pinnacle. You’re so caught up in your own goddamn ego that the mere idea of me not having a single shred of affection left for you has sent you spare. Face the music Stephen and blow it out your bunghole.”

“I have no idea what you just said.”

Aziraphale sneers at him. “Well, then I’ll say it in plain English. Go fuck yourself.”

“Aziraphale!” Stephen’s shout echoes through the shop, and he leans out of the chair, eyes cold with rage. “You will curb your tongue, do you understand me?”

“You lost the right to tell me what to do a long long time ago. I will not curb my tongue, and will in fact repeat myself. Go. Fuck. Your. Self. And fuck all the way back to England, while you’re at it. You don’t seem to understand. You mean nothing to me. You are...insignificant. You are nothing, a flea, a bothersome little flea that needs to be flicked away like the pest you are. I do not, and quite frankly, have never needed you. I only wish it hadn’t taken me three years to figure it out.”

Stephen’s face is almost purple. Aziraphale finds himself not so secretly hoping he’ll have an apoplexy when the bell rings once again, and a very welcome person enters. “Angel, I got us some...who the devil are you?” Crowley is holding a plate piled high with cherry danishes from the bakery down the road. He stares at Stephen, then looks over at his lover. “Baby, who’s the purple ponce?”

Aziraphale has on the Bastard Grin. “Oh, I should probably introduce you. Anthony Crowley, this is Stephen. You remember the things I told you about him, right, my love? Stephen, this is Anthony, my lover. He’s also a very dangerous man. Why, I’ve seen him rip a man’s throat out with his bare hands for insulting the color of his suit.”

Crowley immediately gets the hint and goes into what he thinks of as ‘Demon Mode,’ smiling rather...toothily at Stephen and removing his glasses to give the full impact of his strange gold eyes. “Aziraphale’sss right.” Crowley hisses, putting menace behind the words. “Man said red wasssn’t my color. Told him it wass his, though. Took me agess to get the suit clean.”

Aziraphale nods. “It did. But that was nothing compared to what he did to that poor man that insulted me. Darling, did they ever manage to identify the body? It was rather ravaged by wild animals.”

Crowley shrugs, leaning against a shelf and staring at Stephen. “Well, baby, that’s because I made sure they would find him while he was still alive. He needed to be made an example of. Nobody insults my angel.” He says this last bit in a low growl, eyes fixed on Stephen, who is as pale as a ghost. “And that man only said one bad thing about my Aziraphale. I can’t even imagine what I would do to someone who treated him the way you did. Though I’m thinking it would involve rats. Lots of rats.”

Aziraphale shrugs, still speaking in a bland tone. “Oh, rats are so messy, my love. Perhaps just a simple stabbing, followed by a nice acid bath. Much less messy. Stephen, oh dear, you look rather pale. Perhaps I can fix you a drink?”

Stephen hastily gathers his hat and gloves. “No that won’t be necessary, thank you, I have to be catching a train, have to be getting back to England, good day!” He’s out the door and down the street before the other men can blink. Crowley and Aziraphale look at each other, then begin laughing.

“Angel, I love you when you’re a bastard.”

Aziraphale giggles, pulling Crowley into a very welcome kiss. “And I do so love being a bastard. You were rather good too, my love.” He pulls far enough away to look into his lover’s gold eyes. “Now, you said something about cherry danishes?”

Crowley kisses his forehead. “On the counter, but...there’s something I have to say first.” He takes a deep breath. “Aziraphale Fell, you are the love of my life. You mean more to me than anything. I know that we can never truly, publicly declare our love, which I hate. If it were possible, I would march us both into the nearest church and declare my eternal love for you before God Herself. But since we cannot do that, I hope that this will be enough.” He pulls a small box out of his pocket. Aziraphale takes it, removing the top.

“Oh!” Inside is a thin golden chain, and dangling from the chain is a ring with black and red bands. “Crowley, it’s...” The bar owner reaches under his shirt and pulls out a chain of silver with a gold and white ring. “Oh, my love...”

“I know we can never be proper married, but maybe...we can pretend?” Aziraphale puts on the necklace, and Crowley beams. “Look inside.”

Aziraphale lifts the ring. Written inside in beautiful Gothic script are the words ‘TO THE WORLD.’

“You are my world, Aziraphale.”

“And you are mine.”

Aziraphale pulls him into a deep kiss, rejoicing in his present circumstances.


	3. In Which The Future's So Bright, He's Gotta Wear Shades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley face the future. Whatever happens, they have each other.

Chapter Three: In Which The Future’s So Bright, He’s Gotta Wear Shades

Aziraphale wakes up feeling beautifully achy all over, his ‘husband’ curled up next to him, long arms and legs tangled with his own. Crowley is snuffling in his sleep, and Aziraphale runs a hand down his spine. The bar owner hums in satisfaction and presses closer.

Aziraphale lifts his necklace, heart racing in joy as he examines his ring. Crowley’s necklace glints in the early morning light, and Aziraphale presses a hand between them and onto the cool metal of Crowley’s ring, tracing it with his fingers.

“Morning, angel.” Crowley’s eyes are still closed, but he’s got a soft smile on his face. “And how is my husband doing this morning?”

Aziraphale’s heart leaps into the stratosphere. “He is doing wonderfully, my love. He’s wondering what he did to deserve such a perfect partner as you.”

Crowley opens his eyes, gold staring at blue with love. “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing.” He cups Aziraphale’s cheek, stroking it with his thumb. “I sometimes wonder if this is all a dream. If I’m not just...dreaming that all of this, meeting you, loving you...” his breath hitches, “...almost losing you, if it’s not some elaborate story I’ve concocted and I’m sitting in some padded cell banging on about angels.”

Aziraphale runs a hand down his body. “I’m real, my love. This is all real. You said once that we were meant to be. I believe that as well. It may have taken us both almost forty years, but we’ve finally found our other halves.”

Crowley pulls Aziraphale into a kiss that is interrupted by Warlock banging on his bedroom door and asking if they’re ever going to come out. “Keep making that racket and I’ll come out starkers!” Crowley yells back. Warlock makes a noise of disgust, and Aziraphale falls back on the pillows, cackling. Crowley frowns at him. “I really need to talk to that boy about boundaries. Come on, baby, best get up before he gets it in his head to barge in here.”

“Yes, I suppose if we must, we must.” Aziraphale climbs out of bed and grabs his briefs, giving Crowley a very nice view of his rather lovely ass. The bar owner whimpers.

Aziraphale looks over his shoulder, smirking. “See something you like?”

“Angel, you know I love your curves. And that lovely ass. It’s a shame you have to cover it up.”

“Yes well, there is a child living here, and I would prefer not to traumatize him.” Aziraphale buttons up his trousers, staring pointedly at Crowley. “You going to get dressed?”

Crowley sighs and rolls out of bed, smirking to himself when his husband’s eyes go dark and his breath hitches. “See something you like?”

The bookseller shakes his head and walks over to Crowley. “Something I like? No. Something that I am quite hopelessly in love with? Definitely.” He wraps his arms around Crowley, pulling him into a kiss. Crowley sighs, melting into his angel’s embrace, then yelps in shock when Aziraphale delivers a firm smack to his ass. “Now. Get dressed.”

“Spoilsport.” Crowley mumbles, heading for his closet.

Aziraphale giggles.

Warlock looks up from the book he’s reading when they come into the living room. “About time. I was beginning to think you guys weren’t ever coming out.”

Crowley glares at his nephew. “Yes, well, we were having a sort of wedding night.”

“WEDDING NIGHT?!” Warlock yelps, tossing the book aside with a force that makes Aziraphale wince. “Wait, I thought you and Aziraphale, um, couldn’t.”

Crowley sighs, sitting next to the teen. “We can’t, not legally. That means that if anyone asks why you have two men living with and looking after you, you’ll have to tell them that we’re just roommates. I have that other spare room that I can make up to look like Aziraphale’s if anyone comes over.”

“What would happen if someone found out? Would you guys be in trouble?”

Aziraphale takes a seat on Warlock’s other side. “We would. I don’t know if the law is as strict here as it is in England, but at most we would be facing jail time.”

Warlock huffs in anger. “That’s not fair. Nobody gets mad about the fact that my mom and dad have the worst marriage ever, but you two can’t even kiss in public without getting thrown in jail? That stinks.”

Crowley laughs, ruffling his hair. “Yes, it does. But who knows, maybe someday things will be different.”

Aziraphale nods, then blinks as he recalls something Crowley said a few moments ago. “Living with? Crowley, was that your rather blunt attempt at asking me to move in?”

“Welll… we are married, after all, and I’ve heard that it’s good for married couples to live together, and you’re always banging on about how expensive the rent on your apartment is...”

“The one that you helped me find!”

Crowley waves a hand. “Well, if you want to keep it, fine, but I happen to know Ana and Newt are looking for a place, and the rent is up to date for the next six months...”

Aziraphale glares at the bar owner. “Warlock, do me a favor and tell your uncle that he is incorrigible.”

Warlock giggles. “Uncle Aziraphale says you’re in...what?”

Aziraphale feels a rush of warmth. “It means he’s rather annoying.”

Crowley smirks. “But you love me for it.”

“I do.”

“Aziraphale, I need to warn you about something.” They’re standing outside Eden’s Serpent. Crowley takes Aziraphale’s hands in his, looking as serious as he’s ever looked. “Your ears are probably going to be ringing for about an hour after this. Are you ready?”

“I...yes, I suppose so.”

“Great.” Crowley opens the door and ushers them into the club. “ANA!”

“What?!” Anathema comes out from the back, arms full of the day’s purchase of produce. “Aziraphale! Hey!”

Crowley saunters over to the bar. Aziraphale following. “We’ve got something very important to show you. Angel?”

“Oh! Yes. Very important.”

Anathema’s eyes glint in anticipation. “What? Show me! Show me!”

The bar owner and bookseller grin, and with one fluid motion pull their rings out from under their shirts. Anathema leans in to get a better look, blinks, then shrieks so loudly Aziraphale is sure that every dog in the city is howling. “OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD”

It takes nearly ten minutes for Anathema to stop saying ‘Oh my god’ before she is demanding to see the rings. She gushes over Crowley’s inscription, making him turn beet red. “You’re a SAP! I always knew it!”

Crowley smiles into Aziraphale’s eyes. “Only when it comes to my angel.”

Aziraphale pulls him into an embrace. Whatever happens, whatever the future may bring, he can think of nothing better than spending the rest of his life bound to this perfect human being.

The future is bright with promise.


End file.
